


Worth It

by Laylah



Category: Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World
Genre: D/s, F/M, Femdom, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decus gets up, brushing dust off as best he can, and hurries to catch up with her. "May I come with you?" he asks.</p><p>She looks up at him, but doesn't stop walking. "If you do, I'm going to hurt you," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

The town, when they reach it, looks dismal. If the Chosen really is here, it must be a very demoralizing experience. Well, good, Decus thinks. People are suffering for what the Chosen did -- it's only fair.

Alice looks around and sighs pitiably. "I'm tired," she says.

Their soldiers, whose names Decus hasn't bothered to learn, exchange glances -- hesitating, clearly, neither of them willing to serve her. Idiots. Decus steps forward himself, sinking to his knees in the road and then dropping forward onto his elbows, bracing himself to support her.

She sits down on his back, and he thinks she makes a pleased sound, too quiet for the others to hear. "Go find our agents," she tells them. "See if they have anything good to report."

"Right away," one of the soldiers says. Decus can hear their footsteps as they jog off, but he doesn't look up -- he doesn't want to risk making Alice uncomfortable by moving.

She relaxes slightly as they leave, her weight settling across his ribs. Even through the layers of clothes between them, he can feel the warmth of her thighs; he does his best to focus on that, and not on the roughness of the road under his knees and elbows. After a few minutes, she starts to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck idly. Decus holds very still and tries not to ruin the moment by squirming or making noise. It's not easy, when his neck is so sensitive, and those coy little touches are making his cock start to stiffen in its cage.

"They're taking forever," Alice says eventually.

"Maybe they've found something," Decus suggests.

The hand in his hair tugs sharply. "Shut up," Alice says. "Chairs don't talk."

Decus takes a breath to apologize, and then hesitates. If he's made her angry by speaking, then the best apology he can make is silence, isn't it?

It must be, since she goes back to petting him after he stays quiet for a minute. Before, she might have been just fidgeting, not paying attention to him at all, but that can't be true now, can it? She's definitely thinking about him now. Which means she's rewarding him, touching him so sweetly.

He still hopes that someday she'll _tell_ him she likes him, put it into words, instead of leaving him to guess. But he can wait. Even if it takes the rest of his life. Even if she never does, he's hers, and that won't change.

Their soldiers come jogging back up the road, and Decus holds still, waiting.

"Well?" Alice says.

"No sign of the Chosen, ma'am," the first one says. "Not for weeks, they say."

"I'm so sick of this!" Alice says, and the soldiers flinch audibly. Alice gets up, and Decus looks up out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she's going to take her frustrations out on them -- or him -- right here.

For a second it looks like she might, but then her shoulders slump and she sighs. "Whatever. It's getting dark. We can keep looking tomorrow."

"Ma'am?" the soldier asks. Decus decides he must be new.

"Do what you want for tonight," Alice says, very slowly, like _she's_ decided he must be stupid. "I'm getting a room at the inn." She starts down the road without looking back.

Decus gets up, brushing dust off as best he can, and hurries to catch up with her. "May I come with you?" he asks.

She looks up at him, but doesn't stop walking. "If you do, I'm going to hurt you," she says.

"Anything that would please you, my love," Decus says.

Alice looks away from him, which almost definitely means she's smiling. Decus smiles, too, and follows her to the inn.

The innkeeper is afraid of them, stuttering when he welcomes them in, and there's no argument when Alice says she wants the best room in the house. The Vanguard's reputation has its benefits even in places where people aren't on their side. Not that the best room in the house is all that nice in a run-down little place like this. It's clean, and it doesn't smell, but it's small and the walls are thin.

"Everybody's going to hear you when you scream," Alice says.

Decus tries to keep his tone light. "You want me to scream?" he says. Sometimes she orders him not to, and that's usually when she hurts him worst. He's never failed to follow that order, even though she makes it hard. He won't let her down.

She must not be as upset about the search as she seemed, because she smiles, that fierce little grin that makes it look like she has tiny fangs. "Take your pants off," she says, flexing her crop between her hands. "I need a little stress relief."

"Happy to be of service," Decus says. And she didn't tell him he could _only_ take his pants off, so he starts with his coat instead.

The longer he makes her wait, of course, the more she'll hurt him to make up for it. So he doesn't linger, strips out of his clothes quickly, and the way she looks at him -- it's not quite the way most girls look at their sweethearts, he doesn't think, but he doesn't care. Most girls have nothing on Alice, anyway, and right now she wants something from him.

Decus strips until all he's wearing is his cage -- the lock guarantees he can't take that off unless she permits it -- and kneels in front of her. He's already getting hard, as much as he can like this; at this rate he'll be in agony by the time she's done with him. "Where would you like me, my love?"

"You can start right there," Alice says. She stretches out her arm, measuring distance, the flat tip of the crop just brushing his chest. "Put your hands behind your back and don't move."

"Happily," he says. He tells her he's willing too often, he thinks sometimes. She must know, must be sick of hearing it. But he can't seem to help it, not when he has to say it enough for both of them.

When he puts his hands behind his back, Alice takes careful aim and lashes out with the crop. She catches him right in the nipple, and he jumps, gasping at the sudden jolt of pain. Before the sting truly fades, she strikes again, for the other side. Decus whimpers.

"This is your own fault, you know," she says, stroking the line of his jaw with the crop's tip. "You gave me extra targets."

"I did," Decus says. He takes a steadying breath. "I'm not sorry."

Alice beams at him. "You're so sweet," she says. She draws back and treats him to more strokes of the crop, spacing them evenly, her aim perfect. Every time it seems as though she's falling into a rhythm, she'll pause a moment so he can't quite anticipate her. Decus's nipples ache, burn, so tender from the abuse he can barely stand to hold still for more. He watches her face, since he's in a position where he can; her eyes light up each time she strikes him, and when he makes noise she licks her lips. She looks so happy.

His breath is shaky and ragged by the time she lowers the crop, and his chest throbs with pain in time with his racing heart. She steps closer, but he knows better than to reach for her without an invitation.

"Silly boy," she says. "You're hurting so much, aren't you?"

"Yes," Decus says. She runs her fingertips over his chest, cool and soothing, delicate. He leans into the touch, and she rakes her nails across one tender nipple. Decus whimpers.

"Are you going to sit still for more?" she asks.

Decus swallows hard. He hopes she'll at least let him move, switch up and hit him somewhere else. "Anything that would please you," he says.

Alice leans forward and kisses his forehead. "Idiot," she says gently. She steps back, lifting the crop, and Decus flinches a little bit before he can help it. "Turn around," Alice says. "Bend over the edge of the bed."

Relief makes Decus sag, makes him want to laugh. She's being so kind! "Thank you," he says, and moves into position. At home, where she has her full collection of whips and floggers, a position like this might mean she was planning to work over his back; with the crop, though, it means she's likely going to target his ass and thighs.

"Thank me afterward," she says.

The crop hisses through the air before it strikes, and Decus flinches, yelping at the spreading sting. He curls his fingers in the thin blanket and holds on, because Alice isn't holding back now. Each stroke is hard, vicious, and she doesn't give him much time to recover between them. The crop warms his ass, his thighs, making the flesh feel swollen and tender. She keeps coming back to the sensitive crease between ass and thigh, striking hardest where he feels most delicate. Decus whimpers, burying his face in the blanket to try to muffle the sounds he's making.

"Louder, sweetie," Alice says, pausing, and Decus tries to catch his breath. "You're turning pretty colors, but I want to hear what this does to you, too."

"Of course, my love," Decus says, and stops trying to hold back so much. It's easier to take the pain when he has permission to make noise; he wonders if she knows that.

Between the slap of the crop and his own cries, he listens for the sound of her breathing, and the little crooning noises she makes under her breath when she's enjoying herself. He's trembling, and he feels as though she's going to split him right open with one of these strokes, the raw edges of the leather too much for sore and swollen flesh to take. He catches himself begging her -- _please, please, Alice_ \-- and doesn't dare finish the sentence, doesn't want to disappoint her by needing mercy.

And then at once she stops, just as he's starting to really fear his resolve will break. "On your back," she says breathlessly, and Decus is already moving when she adds, "And spread your legs."

He freezes up. "Alice," he says helplessly.

"Just a little more," she says, and it can't be but it sounds like pleading. "You can hold out for a little bit longer, can't you?"

Decus nods. He spreads his legs, squeezing his eyes shut. If he can see the blows coming he'll cringe, or tense up, and make it worse.

Alice croons, a sweet little noise. "Yes," she says, "like that."

The flat of the crop comes down on the inside of his thigh, and Decus does scream. Alice doesn't give him time to catch his breath, doesn't make him ride out the pain of that first stroke, just follows it with another, and another after that. Decus claws at the blanket beneath him and trembles with the effort of holding still, of letting her do this without protest. He has no protection from her.

When she stops, Decus doesn't want to open his eyes. He doesn't know if he can take it, if she still wants more. He gulps air, trying to calm down. Battle hurts worse than this, when it goes badly. He's fine. Of course, after a battle he's not expected to -- "Thank you," he dares, his voice raw.

The mattress creaks under him, and he opens his eyes to find Alice crawling into bed with him, crawling on top of him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She grabs him by the hair with both hands, leaning down for a needy, biting kiss. Her teeth are sharp against his lips and Decus doesn't care. He feels weightless, giddy with relief.

"It's so good when you hurt this much," Alice murmurs. Her hands clench rhythmically in his hair, like a cat kneading. "It makes me want to come, Decus. Watching you suffer."

Decus moans. His cock throbs at the words, pressing against the confines of his cage. "Please," he says. "Please let me do that for you."

Alice smiles. "You ask so nicely," she says. She rocks back, kneeling above him, and shimmies out of her bloomers. Decus can smell her arousal, and licks his lips. Alice laughs. "So impatient," she says.

"I love this," Decus says, and she'll probably take that to mean the part they've just done, and not the part that comes next, because that's _her_ favorite, he's pretty sure. But it doesn't matter. The hurting is worth it, to make her happy.

"You love it, mm?" Alice says. She slips out of her coat, too, so she's wearing just her boots and the gauzy under-slip. She looks so much younger, so much _softer_ than she is -- Decus can't forget what she's capable of, not when his fresh bruises throb so painfully. "Tell me you want my come."

Decus moans, shuddering under her. "I want your come," he says. "I want you to come all over me."

Alice reaches into her pile of discarded clothes, pulls out the little velvet pouch where she keeps her beads. There are four of them, polished smooth and strung together, creamy pink and as thick as Decus's cock. "Watch carefully," she says, giving him that little feral grin again. She leans back, her knees spread wide, her hips canted forward, and brings the beads down between her legs.

The angle makes it hard to really see, but it's enough; she shivers as she pushes the first one inside herself and Decus moans. His cock aches; the cage is too tight to let him get fully hard, but his body wants to so badly. He has Alice straddling him, pleasuring herself, making soft mewling sounds as she fills herself one slow push at a time. "So lovely," Decus says. "Alice --"

"You talk too much," she says, shifting her weight again, crawling forward and straddling his face. Decus's mouth waters. She's so tempting -- golden hair trimmed back to a coy little stripe, pink lips flushed and slick. Hurting him aroused her this much. "Take care of me, Decus."

She lowers herself down on top of him, and he can't even answer her. He laps at her clit, tasting musk and salt; she fills his senses, her taste and scent, the unbearable softness of her inner thighs against his face. He teases her clit, closing his mouth around it to suck gently. She buries a hand in his hair again and curses, breathy and soft. When she starts to tremble, he dares to raise his hands to cup her ass and steady her, and she doesn't hurt him for the presumption. Her thighs tense, tightening, so he can scarcely hear her tiny moans -- and then she lets go, hot fluid splashing his cheeks and chin. Marking him hers -- covered in her come, wearing her scent. Decus moans, but doesn't falter until she pulls him away.

Alice sits back, her weight on his chest, and she's light but it's still hard to breathe. "You're a mess," she says. "It looks good on you."

"I'm glad you like it," Decus says. Alice runs her fingers through the mess and then pushes them into his mouth, so he sucks them clean. He squirms under her, trying to ask for mercy with his body if she's going to keep his mouth occupied.

Alice raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Oh, you want something?" she says.

The sound Decus makes in his throat is a puppy's whine. He's been good, hasn't he? He's done everything she wanted.

"Don't look so pathetic," Alice says. She gets up, and Decus takes a deep breath in relief even before he realizes that she's reaching for the key she keeps on a chain around her neck. The key for his cage.

"Thank you," he says as she fits the key to the lock. Every time her fingers brush bare skin it's maddening. "Thank you so much."

"Silly," Alice says. She slides the lock free and opens the cage. "You get yourself into this."

"I know," Decus says. "It's worth it." Alice runs her fingers up the length of his cock, and that feels so good he could almost cry. He'd expected her to just tell him to do it himself, but instead she takes a firmer grip on him -- almost uncomfortable, when he's so tender from being caged -- and starts to stroke him herself.

"You're ridiculous," she says, but her tone is gentle, and the look in her eyes makes him feel warm through -- he doesn't need her to say anything, if she'll look at him like that.

"I love you, Alice," he says. He barely has the breath for it -- her hand on his cock feels too good, makes him desperate. He's been waiting so long, but now --

"Come, Decus," she says, and it's the kindest order she could possibly give and he does, shaking and arching up into her hand, sobbing in gratitude.

She keeps stroking just a little too long, until he tries to squirm away from the too-intense sensation, and then she laughs. He's made a mess of her hand, and she lifts it to his lips for him to lick his come from her skin. He doesn't taste as good as she does, but that's hardly a surprise.

"I'm going to go wash up," she says, sliding out of bed. Decus holds his breath, waiting to see if she'll tell him to go away, but she doesn't -- just walks off to the little washroom that's one of the reasons this is the nicest room at the inn.

Decus lies still, listening to the splashing sounds from the washroom, feeling the beat of blood in all the sore spots she's left him. They have some gels, and even a little nowhere town like this could probably provide more, but Decus isn't in a hurry to use one. If the aches and bruises don't slow him down, he'd rather leave them alone.

When Alice comes back, carrying both her beads and the last of her clothes, Decus does his best not to stare. She's lovely, but she won't want attention like that. He rolls gingerly out of bed to go take his turn washing up. The water turns out to be cold, but that's not so bad -- it's soothing everywhere he's sore, and that's a pretty long list. The welts Alice has left him stripe his skin red and purple, but she doesn't seem to have broken the skin anywhere, despite what it felt like at the time. He rinses himself clean as best he can, then goes padding back to bed.

Alice has put her slip and bloomers back on, curling up on the bed so there's just enough room to share. She watches him come over, and the little smile on her lips is probably for the marks she's left.

"May I stay?" Decus asks.

Alice looks up to meet his eyes. "If you do, I'm going to cage you up again in the morning," she says.

He shrugs. "I belong to you," he says.

She looks away. "Do what you like," she says.

Decus eases himself down into bed, and Alice slides over a little more to make room. "Thank you," he says.

"Hush," she answers.

There's no really comfortable position when he's this thoroughly beaten, but if he holds still the pain recedes eventually. Decus closes his eyes, does his best to relax. He can hear Alice shifting position once or twice, and eventually her breathing changes cadence as she slips off to sleep.

A few minutes after that she rolls over, burrowing against his side. The arm she throws over him presses on the bruises on his chest, but he stays where he is, doesn't try to move her. It's just a little pain. It's worth it.


End file.
